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“How about when I told you I was pregnant?”
Her hands pause as her head swivels toward me. “That was years ago. Why are you bringing that up now?”
“You bring it up every chance you get. You just referred to Ainsley as mysituation. Do you even hear yourself talk?”
“A twenty-six-year-old woman who goes to a sperm bank to have a child on her own is unconventional.”
My fingers stop strumming.
“How would you have reacted if I’d told you I was knocked up by a guy while away in Aruba, who left me the next morning, who I then had to track down like the CIA, only to have him tell me to get rid of the baby because he didn’t want it?”
Her shoulders are pressed back as her palms run down the front of her blazer. She purses her mouth as she looks at me with a fraught expression.
“Jillian, you are giving me great cause for concern. If that …” She swallows as she tries to find her words. “Is that what happened?”
“Just be happy with the sperm bank story.”
She takes her purse and stands up, seemingly confused on if she should stay or go.
“Don’t tell that to Eric. It’s tragic and absolutely horrible. Please tell me that’s just a story because I can’t fathom you being so reckless as to have been with such a man and then be used in that way. You’re a Hathaway, not trash.”
I agree. That’s why I did to Luke exactly what he had done to me. I blocked him from my life. I had the baby he hadn’t wanted on my own. She was never going to live in a world with a father who resented her existence. I moved from my apartment, changed my number, and set up new roots for myself. I let a lie live not just to appease my mother—although that never worked—but because it was easier on my heart.
“Don’t call me again, Jillian.” His words were pained, but not as much as my heart.
“That’s it? You’re not going to be there with me when I go to the clinic? You’re not going to hold my hand or tell me it’s going to be okay?”
“No.”
I swallowed my tears and let quivering breaths escape my mouth and responded to him the only way I could.
“I hate you, Luke. I’ll hate you forever.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. It’s just a story.”
She swallows and rights her posture again, adjusting her strap on her shoulder. “Good. Now, let’s try to make sure Eric isn’t put off by your callous attitude and ill-fated humor.”
“Yes. Let’s hope,” I say for no reason whatsoever.
My mother leaves, and my stomach gnaws.
Why do I feel like I had it all wrong? And by all, I mean life.
My life just went from complicated to messy.
sixteen
“JILLIAN, CAN YOU GRABme the tulle in the bin by the grand staircase?” Melissa asks from atop her ladder.
An assistant is standing below it with her hands holding an almost-done roll of tulle and several clips.
I grab the bin they need and walk it into the atrium that’s being decorated for a wedding ceremony. Flower vases line the aisle adorned with a white runner, etched with an elegant gold monogram on the end. When Melissa is done adding tulle, she’ll incorporate a flower arch to tie it all together.
Once Melissa is set, I head into the ballroom and grab my iPad that I left on one of the tables. I look at the itemized list of things that need to be done. All deliveries are accounted for, the vendors are here, and the event is running on schedule. I just checked in with the bridal party, who are all sipping champagne and getting their hair done. The groom is at a nearby hotel. The photographer is in the lobby, waiting to be welcomed upstairs.
I look at the time and wonder what is taking Luke so long. I panic-called him over an hour ago that we forgot to pack the donation cards we had printed to let the guests know a donation has been made in their name to a blood cancer charity near and dear to the couple’s heart. They were ordered to match the menus and were absentmindedly left on Melissa’s desk. I blame myself. Checklists are my thing, and I had it marked as being in the bin.
“Ainsley to the rescue!” a tiny voice bellows from the entrance to the ballroom.
